The Mourning After The Night Before

I had an anxious, disturbed night last night. The thought of my short-lived, stomach-churning night of ‘passion’ with the delicate flower from The Lion kept haunting me. I spent two hours convinced I was going to die of syphilis, then went online to search for the symptoms and treatment of chlamydia. There aren’t any, it turns out. You could go over someone inch by inch and you still wouldn’t know if they had it before you slept with them. (Obviously that doesn’t apply to my last sexual encounter – if I’d checked over her body inch by inch I’d have died of old age before I got to her navel)
I distracted myself from the worry by watching ‘Lost’ on DVD and eating Snickers bars.
I drifted off, only to wake up an hour later with toothache. “Christ – will this night never end?” thought I, then had half a pint of milkshake and some Andrews.
I belched, farted, popped and groaned and made it back to sleep just before sunrise. Only to dream about having a torrid homosexual affair with Daniel Day-Lewis.
The scary thing is, I think I enjoyed it. He was a bit rough-handed, but he spoke to me nicely. And he made me a cup of tea and a sandwich when he’d finished.
Can one change’s ones sexuality in response to a dream?
Please don’t answer that question.
And please don’t re-visit this blog until I’ve slept, or had therapy.

RC 19-9-08
1308 BST